


dip in my daydream.

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, Mentions of Blood, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pegging, light humiliation, mentions of misogynoir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 18:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18349454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: “that’s a fair thought to lie between a maid’s legs” - hamlet, act iii, scene iibrunnhilde’s the CFO for a multi-billion dollar tech company who’s roped thor into her life of lavish wealth and idiotic coworkers.





	dip in my daydream.

**Author's Note:**

> 2019 goals met: thorkyrie + sugar baby thor

They skip the formalities, don’t dwell on how either of their days were as Brunnhilde enters their home.

Brunnhilde knows by the emails from Paypal that Thor had a busy day enjoying himself and shopping online (probably) as naked as he is now. Every five minutes or so she’d see an email notifying her of a withdrawal giving her a receipt from the purchase, some of them making her laugh a little. _Who spends fifty dollars on Spearmint gum? And were those pairs of lingerie for her or him?_

Thor knows by her squared, contoured jaw and the fire in her eyes under her sharp wings and perfectly shaped eyebrows and her white teeth with dark brown lips nearly barred that Brunnhilde’s had an infuriating day at work. He doesn’t ask why she looks like she’s about to burn down her childhood home, but he also doesn’t need to; it seems it’s always the same thing, always too many idiots trying to tell her – the fucking _Chief Financial Officer_ – how to fill out a fucking check or track employee salaries or project revenue. It’s ridiculous, absolutely _ridiculous,_ that the _men_ she works with, her subordinates, men _inferior_ to her, treat her like she’s a diversity hire who got the job because she walked into the interview room with bright doe-eyes and a skirt shorter than her resume and used her big, cock-sucking lips to sweet talk the CEO and the rest of the board of executives into giving her such a high title. As if _Brunnhilde_ isn’t the one who doesn’t deserve her job, as if those thirty-something econ-major a-holes didn’t get their positions because their daddy is one of the company’s lawyers or knew a guy close to an assistant to some software engineer who got an interview because their LinkedIn page had the same frat listed.

The second they cross paths in the kitchen, across from each other as Thor wears just a tank top and some flimsy shorts that barely covered the obscene tan lines from their trip to some Central American resort two weeks ago, she nearly jumps on him. It’s _distracting_ to Brunnhilde as she reaches for the closest vial of liquor, her anger nearly dying then and there when she notices the pale strip that’s met with golden skin less than four inches down from his hip bones. Her throat dries before she can speak, and before she pours her red wine she decides to grab a bigger glass.

 “Meet me in the bedroom,” is all she says, eyes now reading some email notification on her phone to stop her from bending him over on her freshly-cleaned countertop.

Thor puts down the glass of ice water with lemon he was sipping from, the condensation on his hand giving him an excuse to obscenely lick over his own fingers. To his dismay, Brunnhilde doesn’t notice.

“Yes, Daddy,” he returns, wiping the rest of the wetness off on a pristine kitchen towel before briskly making his way up the stairs.  He strips once he steps into the threshold of the grand master bedroom, his clothes going in the hamper under the large sink in the bathroom. He falls to the floor for a few moments, the plush, light-grey carpeting uncomfortable under his knees.

But as he moves to pull his long, sun-bleached hair from his face, Thor gasps and bolts to his side of the bed. Under the book he was reading earlier that day, the food and candy wrappers, the half-full glass of white wine from the night previous, he finds his collar – a custom-made leather one whose baby pink color scheme stands out against the grey scale of the room. Brunnhilde’s a simple woman, a simple woman who doesn’t like a lot of frill or bells or whistles. She’s perfectly cut marble, silver earrings, the same white button-up with different, dark-colored suits. The only place she even dares to indulge herself, even _thinks_ about buying something for the Hell of it, it when Thor’s involved. To forget the collar is to disappoint her, to flush all Brunnhilde’s effort and hard work down the sewer system.

He’s barely got the clasp in place just as her footsteps on the winding staircase come into earshot, hands flat over his knees exactly where she wants him to be: kneeling in the middle of the room with his bedazzled collar secured on his neck. The pastel color might wash him out on any other occasion, but the deep purple bruises that paint his neck provide a beautiful contrast.

Brunnhilde doesn’t come into the room for a while, a glass of champagne _(she must be saving the expensive red for a special occasion)_ in one hand and her perfectly shined work stiletto in the other. She’s still in her black pantsuit, the only difference in her appearance from that morning being her untucked shirt and the few buttons she’s released from their eyes. Even her makeup still looks perfect. The top of the cups of her lacey black bra are _just_ visible, and Thor feels like an 1800s virgin priest who’d never seen an ankle before that very night.

She steps towards him with purposeful movements, before stopping just before him to drop her shoes onto the space behind him. Thor doesn’t flinch at the loud _thud_ , instead keeping his eyes trained on her.

“You’re so good,” she praises. “Such a good pet for me…”

They take a moment to look at each other, the only noises that cut through the silence are the bubbles from her drink breaking the surface of the liquid.

“Undress me,” she tells him.

Thor wordlessly takes the woman’s drink and places it on the closest table – a half-circle deep oak with a marble top across from the bed. The jacket comes off first, placed neatly next to the champagne. It’s soon joined by her shirt and pants – both pristinely folded. When all her clothes have been removed, Thor looks Brun up and down with his eyes following every curve of her toned muscles.

“Back in position,” she says, her eyes following Thor as he sinks back down to the floor. Neither of them speaks she steps to the far end of the bed, no one uttering a word when she moves the mused thick comforter and blankets aside to make a smooth spot for her to sit on. She stares him down for a little while, trying to focus her brain on the hot piece of ass in front of her instead of the ugly motherfucker who explained to her how to add values in a column in an Excel spreadsheet during her lunch break. _Her lunch break! Can’t asshats still respect that she is required twenty minutes for-_

Thor can see her struggling, notices how her eyes flicker and her bottom lip looks like its attempt to heal itself from the last time Brun chewed on it so hard it bled (which was two days ago) had failed, as where used to be a small, hardened sliver of dark brown skin has been replaced by a red – but not bleeding – slit. His chest rises and falls sporadically, his breath catching his throat as he watches Brunnhilde spreads her legs.

“You wanna eat my pussy?” she asks, plush lips turning up into a grin as Thor whines.

“Yes, fuck _yes_ , Daddy,” He can almost _smell_ her heady scent from where he’s positioned over three and a half feet away. “Wanna eat your pussy so bad.”

She smiles wider, laughing a little as she notes the obvious strain. “Aw, you’re so _cute_. Look at you, all flushed and helpless,” Brun’s eyes trail down his chest, across his strained muscles, up and down his aching cock. He’s pushed his hair pack into one of those buns Brun just adores, and his bottom lip is a dull red from him gnawing at it. “Tell me how bad you wanna eat my pussy.”

Thor doesn’t miss a beat, glasses eyes scrunched shut. “ _Fuck_ I can’t tell you how much I love being buried between your thighs, love having your hands fisted in my hair. Want it so bad, wanna feel your slick against my face, bite at your inner thighs, make you come again and again. Please, _please_ let me make you feel good.”

All Brun can do is smile and beckon him with a single crook of her finger. Thor gulps before bowing down to crawl towards her, the nameplate chiming as he does so.

In his despair, he can only get about two feet before he’s stopped by the pads of Brunnhilde’s toes that she presses against the center of his forehead.

“Please, my love,” he whines. “ _Please_.”

Brunnhilde doesn’t respond right away, just trails her pointed toes down his nose and back onto the floor as her face relaxes. “Tell me the I’m best you’ve ever had.”

Thor doesn’t even blink. “Please, Brun,” she lets the use of her name, the lack of title, slip, because what he says next nearly melts the thick steel encapsulating her heart. “You’re the love of my life, not just the best sex I’ve ever had. You’re my everything, legitimately everything. You’re the smartest, quickest woman I’ve ever met, will ever meet. Every time you allow me to touch you is an honor, every single time I wake up and you’re there is better than the last. Please, let me show you how much I love you. Let me eat your pussy.”

She grins then, failing to hide the break in her stern façade. Brunnhilde can’t even respond, worried she’d cry or give in whatever the fuck she’s feeling wants to make her do. As her heart _thumps_ in her chest and something swirls around in her stomach and ribcage, she nods once. She allows Thor to touch her as his tongue sinks into her wet heat.; His thick arms reach up from under her, one moving to palm at her exposed breasts while the other rubs circles over her hips.

“God, finger me, baby,” she tells him as her thighs tense around him, and she nearly purrs when he slips two fingers and curls them _just_ right.  It doesn’t take long for the familiar coil in her abdomen to tighten, the stress from the day making her desperate for relief. “You’re so fucking good at this,” she mumbles, too stuck in euphoria to form a sentence more coherent than that.

Thor merely hums in appreciation, a feeling that finally pushes Brun over the edge. She cries out, nearly screaming as she meets her release, legs entrapping and pulling him close to her center. He eases off his movements as the spasming muscles relax and by the time her legs hit the sheets, he’s leaving only soft licks as she sighs.

When Brunnhilde pushes him away, his face and scruff are absolutely soaked with her. She knows it, too, even if she isn’t looking at him, as the kisses he leaves across her legs can’t be that wet from merely his spit.

The second her breath evens out, she wastes no time standing and caressing Thor’s dripping chin. “Grab the harness for me, would you baby?”

Thor nods once, his movements fluid as he goes to adjust the gold-plated knobs on the padlock into the proper combination. It _clicks_ open easily, the mechanics never having been able to become rusted from lack of use.

“Daddy, which toy should I bring with the harness?” He asks, eyeing the dozen or so toys placed precisely two inches apart. A rush of adrenaline surges through his spine when he remembers he’s only gazing at the first tray that’s been stacked in the large chest.

“ _Mm_ ,” he can hear her flipping through thick stacks of paper, the turning of individual pages languid. _Probably consumer reports_ , he thinks. _This quarter’s almost over_. There’s a few moments of silence, then the sound of the bed squeaking and the thick stack of paper hiding her bedside table.

Thor still doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as he feels Brunnhilde come behind him. His breath may hitch, but his shoulders relax as she trails kisses across the top of his left trapezius muscle. “You know, that’s something I was thinking about today…” Her hands trail up and down his body as she muses about her day, about pie charts and bar graphs and the euro and the yen. Thor nearly passes out as she wraps one hand around his length, and Brun asking him questions and expecting responses almost stops his heart. She knows this, and that makes it that much worse. “Here’s the thing, baby, I know you’re a greedy little cockslut, so I’ll let you choose…”

Thor melts into her. “Oh, thank you, _thank you, Daddy- “_

“But you have to tell me why.”

For the first time that night, Thor hesitates. At initial glance the risk-reward calculation appears to be in his favor: He gets to pick the toy, sure. That’s not something Brun lets him do very often, and any day where she’s nice enough to do that, on average, correlates with allowing him to get away with actions she’s normally put him over her knee for. But he’s also embarrassed, and the light pink dusting on his cheeks from the heat of the room has now turned almost red from embarrassment.

From behind him, Brunnhilde snakes two arms around his torso to lift the next two velvet-lined levels of the box, filled with silicone cocks of infinite shapes and sizes. His eyes glimmer as they flit around each one, his cock jumping when he sees _the one_.

It’s particularly flashy like the others, its design simple and sleek. It reminds him of Brunnhilde. His fingertips trace over the smooth silicon from its head to its base, breath leaving his lungs.

“I-I want this one,” he says, barely above a whisper. “It, uh. It reminds me of you, reminds me of you. So simple, so beautiful.”

He can feel Brunnhilde smile into his shoulder. “Get that tight ass on the bed, baby.”

Thor takes his place right in the middle of the thing, on his hands and knees with his back parallel to the mattress. He shivers a small bit when Brunnhilde runs a single finger down the ridges of his spine. “Such a beautiful little toy you are,” she praises. “So good for me…”

Thor gulps. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He’s already prepped, fingered himself not long before along with being plugged the full day previous has left it perfectly easy for Brunnhilde to slip two fingers into him. A rush of air immediately enters Thor’s lungs, and the sharp inhale is met with coos from the woman above him.  
“It’s okay, baby…Daddy’s got you…”

Brunnhilde pushes four fingers into him before she pulls away to grab the lube that lays on its side in the first drawer in her bedside table. She coats the toy evenly, as well as Thor’s hole.

“You ready?” she asks, groping at his heaving chest and aching cock.

Thor nods with his eyes screwed shut. “Yes, _yes_ Daddy, please fuck me.”

Brunnhilde eases into him with slow, purposeful movements, and each time she stops or slows more than her already-snail’s-pace or pulls back Thor begins to tense, panic, his actions nearly feral as he grabs at the sheets and pushes back on Brunnhilde’s cock.

“ _Please_ ,” his voice trembling just like his body. “ _Please don’t stop_.”

Brun doesn’t respond, but she does speed up her pace in a slow, steady way that makes Thor’s breath heavy each time she bottoms out. Each whine, each desperate moan, each small little _yes_ fuels her adrenaline and the power behind her thrusts. “you’re so pretty when you’re getting fucked,” she tells him as she pulls him up by his hair. When he becomes flush against her chest she reaches to nibble at his ear, his neck, kissing just above the collar. “So, _so_ pretty.”

Thor’s wails are throaty and uncontrollable, and if Brunnhilde didn’t live on a thousand acres and in a seventy-thousand square foot home she’d worry about the neighbors hearing. 

“Please- “he begs, the words becoming choked noises as Brun thrusts into him particularly hard.

“What is it, baby?” Brunnhilde asks, teeth sinking into the back of his neck. “Do you want more? Are you not satisfied with this ten-inch dick in your ass? You know you’re taking all of it so well, baby. Maybe you don’t wanna push your luck by taking more...”

It takes an eternity for Thor to speak again, all the blood in his body going to his cock and all his brain space focusing on the feeling of the toy hitting his prostate. “ _Please touch me, Daddy_ ,” he begs. “Please, _please touch me_.”

“As you wish,” Brunnhilde teases, her hands moving from his hips to his hair and aching cock. Pre-cum has gathered at the head and has begun to pool beneath it. She begins slow, so slow it feels like she bottoms out thrice as her hand travels up and down a single time. Brun knows this, knows the juxtaposition is almost _painful_ , and so she so mercifully syncs her hips and palm.

Nearly instantly, Thor’s slacked jaw finds it in itself to allow him to speak. “Holy _shit_ ,” he screams. “Holy _fuck_ oh my _God_.”

Brunnhilde just chuckles, breathless as she speeds up. “C’mon, baby. If you want it you gotta beg me for it,” she leans down again. With her lips close to his ear, she growls. “ _Beg me to let you cum_.”

Once Thor begins, he can’t seem to stop. “Please, _please_ Daddy let me cum I’ll be so good for you I’m so good for you I’ve been so good for you please let me cum I’ll do anything, _anything_.”

“Then cum for me,” she hisses. “I’ll count down from five…”

Thor knows this game, knows if he allows himself to orgasms before or after she’ll punish him harshly, whether with her hand or just by riding his face until _she_ cums and not allowing him to touch himself for days or weeks.

 _“_ Four…”

His hands, if they weren’t white before, have now gone deathly pale as he fists the sheets.

“Three…”

He can feel tears fall down his face and spill onto the wrinkled material below him.

“Two…”

As he looks down, he sees a small smear of bleed where, as he tongues over his mouth, he realizes his teeth have nearly ripped through his bottom lip.

 _“One_.”

Thor comes with a scream before collapsing on the bed, thinking that Brun would just pull out of him and leave him be. Thor is wrong.

She flips him over with surprising ease, given the stark difference in their frames. Where Brunnhilde is lean and toned, Thor is muscled and thick. None of that seems to matter, though, as she pulls off the strap with one hand and reaches for his half-hard cock with the other.

Thor’s brain is too foggy to process what’s going on, neurons reverting back to habit, back to what he thinks Brunnhilde wants.

“Do you want me to- “He begins to ask before he gasps and sighs as she sinks herself onto him.

“Mm,” her eyes roll back as she begins to push back and forth on his cock. “Nu-uh, forget about that thing, baby, focus on pleasing me.”

All Thor can do is rub at her neglected clit and push up into her, each muscle in his body tensing. Each of Brun’s movements make him shake and jerk as he babbles about nothing and palms her breasts. Her orgasm – one that comes almost unexpectedly quick - is almost painful around him, any and all of his thoughts frozen on their pathways as she tightens around his already-sensitive member.  Brunnhilde’s chest heaves as she slides off of him, collapsing and pulling him close as his eyelids drooping like a small child after a long day at the zoo.

“Do you,” he swallows with what little spit his dry mouth can form in the post-sex haze. “Do you want me t’ clean the toy?” he repeats, voice quiet from exhaustion.

“Oh, no, baby,” she coos. “Don’t worry about cleaning that right now, let me just hold you, okay?”

Thor nods wordlessly, cuddling into Brun’s bare, sweat-covered chest. “I love you, Brun,” he mumbles into the side of her breast, kissing at the stretch marks there.

“I love you, too, Thor,” she tells him, a sugary, childlike smile plastered on her face as she falls asleep.


End file.
